In the year of our lord seven hundred and seventy eight and in the tenth year of the reign of our most illustrious and gracious king.
Before the crack of dawn Charlemagne is up surveying his troops. From the top of the hill he can see his army down below. Charlemagne looks at the thousands of tents that he knows house his men and he smiles. He is fiercely proud of his men; because of them he has won many battles.
As he rides down the hill, he begins to reflect on the upcoming day. Today is a day of battle for Charlemagne and his troops. The pagan Bretons, once again breaking the treaties made with Charlemagne, have attacked the Frankish people. For years he has tried to bring the pagans under the rule of God and Christendom. Each year they have broken the peace. Charlemagne decided that today the pagans must pay. Once again-and for the last time-the Bretons would submit. He would make them accept Christianity. He would make them acknowledge him as king and ruler of the land.
Charlemagne reaches the edge of the camp. With a nod of his head, drums sound, letting everyone know to wake up. In less than an hour everyone is up making their own personal preparations for the coming day. Some sing a glorious song about the honor and glory of Charles their King. Some paint themselves with war paint, while others simply kneel and pray. Charlemagne looks at his men and begins to speak, but then he stops. What else is left to say? In the preceding weeks he has drilled them, cajoled them and praised them. What else is left to say?
The great king looks at his men, looks at the sky and then in the brilliant grace, power and majesty that becomes him, unsheathes his sword and raises it to the sky. "Munjoe Munjoe Munjoe," the soldiers begin the chant. The Franks battle cry grows louder and louder. The battle cry that is also the name of Charlemagne's sword grows to a frenetic and deafening pitch. Charlemagne lowers the sword, looks at his soldiers and smiles once again.
In the year of our lord one thousand nine hundred and ninety seven, in the seventeenth year of the reign of our glorious and wondrous Coach K.
It is 5 o'clock Wednesday night; a man is seen from a distance surveying Krzyzewskiville. He looks upon the tents and smiles. He knows his warriors are primed and ready. They have been looking forward to this moment for many weeks, in fact many months.
He sees the tents and the preparations his warriors are making for the upcoming encounter, and he smiles. Some are putting on their war paint. For some it's just a Go Duke on their face, for others their entire body is given for the cause. Others are planning their strategy for the upcoming battle-which taunts they are going to use to baffle and vanquish their mighty foe. Others just sit and plan what they will do after the encounter. Exactly how they will celebrate after the accursed pagans are once and for all banished into the bowels of hell and the earth free from this plague.
The man looks upon all this and is very pleased. For 17 years he has been subjecting the land to his rule. He has fought many battles; some he has lost, but many more has he won. He has become the ruler of a great kingdom and has ruled his subjects with grace, pride and dignity. But not everyone has taken kindly to his rule. Each year a different tribe has tried to throw this man off his throne. In some years they all joined together and openly rebelled against him, but he has survived. But no tribe has tried to refuse this man's rule more often than the one he and his men are preparing for now. Since the beginning, this tribe has tried to rebel against him and claim his throne. This evil pagan tribe is the same one that prays to the ram-god: Carolina.
Mike Krzyzewski has been battling the forces of evil for 17 long and hard years. The pagans have become bolder over the years. Now they are planning an attack on Krzyzewski's castle itself. He looks at his army and plans on how he will defend his home. The people out in the tents are not the infantry-no, they are locked away in Cameron going over the battle plans in their heads. No, these people are the tenters-the ones who affectionately call him Coach K; they are the calvary, his secret weapon, and they must be used wisely. What should he say to them, should he say anything at all? He starts to walk toward them, but there is nothing to say. Everything that can be said has already been said. Everyone knows their job and what they must do. Coach K turns and walks away.
10:37 p.m. The contest has been going on for more than an hour. It has been a back and forth contest with each side never able to gain full control. Coach K looks at his infantry and sees that both sides are tired. He begins to wonder; is it time, or should he wait a little longer? He looks up at the crowd and looks upon the face of his secret weapon, and he knows. It's time. It's time to unleash the full fury and power of his mighty army. Coach K takes one last look at the crowd and then he looks onto the field of battle. He slowly raises his arm into the air and clutches his hand into a fist. The crowd responds the way he knew they would. They begin to chant "Wojo Wojo Wojo."
With a burst of energy and strength the team responds. They respond to the sixth man, and in a fit of rage they capture the victory. The accursed pagan foe is vanquished.
Jamal Middlebrooks is a Trinity junior.
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